


surreal, but nice

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:31:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wears tick-framed glasses and her hair is pulled away from her face in a braid, but he would recognize that blond hair and angelic face everywhere. Hell, he would recognize those eyes everywhere, and he’s about to see them on screen in about five minutes.<br/>Emma Swan – the Emma Swan – is sitting next to him, and Killian is suddenly too aware of every muscle in his body as he settles in his seat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Killian’s the one closing shop on Friday nights, which means he’s the one having to force people outside so he can clean and take care of the cash register. Money, he can do. Forcing people to stop reading, finish their drinks and leave – well, sometimes it can be a headache. And of course tonight he’s facing one particularly unhelpful customer, so he’s running late on basically everything, and so the movie theatre is packed when he finally makes it. He groans as he buys his ticket, groans even more when he sees that there are basically no seats left.

Storybrooke is a little town, so it has an equally little movie theatre – only two rooms, very few movies a day – so of course the place is always a mess when a blockbuster is out. And of course his friends are most unhelpful, Ruby pouting at him when he finally finds her in the crowd. None of them even thought of saving a seat for him, and Killian rolls his eyes. That’s the problem with being the only single block of their group, he guesses. Not exactly his friends’ priority.

So he moves to the back, and finds a seat on the side. His knees knock into a woman’s knees when he reaches for the seat, and so Killian mumbles an apology with a quick glance to her. Then a not so quick glance, because –

His eyes widen. She wears tick-framed glasses and her hair is pulled away from her face in a braid, but he would recognize that blond hair and angelic face everywhere. Hell, he would recognize those eyes everywhere, and he’s about to see them on screen in about five minutes.

Emma Swan – _the_ Emma Swan – is sitting next to him, and Killian is suddenly too aware of every muscle in his body as he settles in his seat. Not comfortably, swallowing around the knot in his throat.

Should he acknowledge her presence? Or, quite the contrary, should he act like he doesn’t know her, because it’s obvious she isn’t making a scene of being there so it would be rude to blow her cover? Killian basically has no idea, so he just stares at the white screen in front of him and doesn’t dare to move a muscle – like he could frighten her if he made a sudden movement, but he’s the one with the deer-in-the-highlights look right now.

And he tries not to think too much about it, but he fails epically because _that’s Emma Swan next to him_. She was his celebrity he was allowed to have sex with if he met her when he was dating Milah (hell, she was Milah’s too) and he’s been painfully aware of how out of her league she was since he was a teenager and she was on that very popular sitcom about a foster family. She’s so girl-next-door it makes her even less probably to meet, let alone flirt with, let alone date and – _and she’s sitting right next to him_.

Basically, he doesn’t manage to enjoy the first half hour of the movie because he’s too busy freaking out and creating a hundred different scenarios in his head where he’s smooth and she gives him her number. He can almost hear Mulan cackling at the smooth part, and mental Mulan has a point. He was good about that in college, when he could pick up girls at bars and never see them again. When it matters (and why _wouldn’t_ it matter with _Emma Swan_ ), he’s more than useless.

But the movie is good, and he gets pulled into the story at some point, just enough to forget he’s sitting next to one of the most popular actresses of this decade and just enough for him to actually start enjoying his evening. He even laughs out loud at a joke, and literally is at the edge of his seat during the final battle that, of course, ends on a cliffhanger.

He blinks at the screen when the credits roll, and the smart part of his brain screams at him to congratulate her for the good job. She was phenomenal in the movie, and he needs to tell her. But, when he turns his head, she is nowhere to be seen, and Killian heaves a sigh. Perhaps he made her up. Nobody will believe him anyway, like that story of Bill Murray stealing some guy’s fries in a diner.

So Killian stands up, and goes back to meet with his friends.

He so needs alcohol.

 

…

 

Killian has been working for Belle for almost five years now. Being a barista-slash-bookseller has never really been where he saw himself at thirty, but it’s better than working at the Rabbit Hole, both for the hours and for the pay. He can read when there aren’t many customers, and Belle forces him to taste her new recipes every four days or so. As far as jobs go, it’s one of the best Killian has ever gotten, so he isn’t one to complain.

This Saturday is particularly quiet, because it’s summer and not many people care about hot beverages when Ingrid’s ice cream parlour is right around the corner. It makes for a quiet afternoon, Killian reading Moby Dick behind the counter while Belle cooks in the kitchen. She’s humming Disney songs to herself, a very Belle thing to do – those are Killian’s favourite days, when they can do their thing without running everywhere to please everyone.

He’s deep in his book when the front door’s bell chimes happily, and he raises his head to greet the new customer–

Only to choke on his own tongue.

Killian is fairly certain he’s not imagining her this time. Or perhaps he is, because the way the sun falls on her and creates a golden halo of her hair, the way she so elegantly pushes her sunglasses up on her head, the way she smiles at him, gentle and simple – it’s the kind of perfection that only exists in the corner of his mind that has watched too many Hugh Grant movies as a young lad.

“Hello”, he croaks after long seconds, because she’s still standing in the doorframe and he’s being rude.

“Oh, hi,” she replies, before she glances to the cakes on the counter and the menu above him. She frowns a little, adorable, and he is so doomed it’s not even funny anymore. “One slice of lemon cake, please.”

“Be right up,” he somewhat manages to reply, before he all but runs to the kitchens.

Belle is still humming to herself – _Go the distance_ this time, he’s not judging – as she bakes cupcakes, a smudge of flour on her cheek and her hair a mess on top of her hair. She barely looks up to him, too busy carefully decorating her cupcakes, but he stares at her long enough that she finally stops and looks his way.

“ _Emma Swan_ is in your shop.”

Her eyes widen immediately, but not in the way Killian expected. No, a grin settles on her lips too, and she runs to the front of the shop, cupcakes long forgotten. By the time he follows her out of the kitchen, Belle literally is throwing herself in the arms of Emma Swan, and Emma Swan is hugging her back with a laugh.

Killian entered a different dimension, or something.

“I’m so happy to see you!” Belle says. “You should have called!”

“I’m sorry,” Emma replies. “It was all very sudden, only Ingrid knew.”

They chat away for long minutes, catching up like the long-lost friends they apparently are. Killian is so very confused, so he busies himself with serving her the slice of lemon cake she asked, and he slides it next to her on the counter. She beams at him when she notices, his heart going a little weak at the sigh.

“I didn’t know you were local,” he comments.

“Yeah, people keep it low key,” she replies as she tugs a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not local either.”

“Ah, the accent.”

She smirks. “No, I just know everybody in town.”

Belle snorts a laugh before she excuses herself and goes back to the kitchen, with the promise of catching up later with ‘the entire gang, oh my god, just like old times’. Which leaves Killian alone with Emma, watching as she takes the tiniest bit of cake, humming happily when she chews on it. He tries not to stare, really, but she closes her eyes and smiles, and he can’t look away.

“You were at the movies last night,” she tells him all of a sudden, startling him out of his thoughts (fantasies). “Did you like it?”

‘Nervous’ barely begins to describe the kind of laugh out of Killian’s lips, or the way he scratches his neck. Maybe if he prays loudly enough, the earth will open beneath his feet and swallow him down, so he won’t have to continue that discussion.

“Aye. So were you.”

She shrugs, and takes another bites of cake. “Did you like it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, you paid for it so yeah,” she replies cheekily.

Killian is pretty sure he’s blushing, if the warmth of his ears is anything to go by. But who would keep their composure at Emma Swan teasing them, really? Someone who has issues, that’s who. And, well, Killian has issues of his own all right, but he is also painfully aware of the way she stares at him, head tilted to the side a little, like she really cares about his answer, his opinion.

“Aye, it was good. You were good, of course. Excellent music, it was…”

“Good,” she finishes for him with a smile. That’s when Belle shows up again, with a box, and Emma beams at her. “You remembered!”

“Of course I did. Chocolate fondants for you, blueberry cupcakes for Henry.”

Emma grins one more time as she takes the box, but there is something else to her smile – something like melancholy, maybe. Killian isn’t exactly sure, because it disappears before it really settles on her features, as Emma grabs her wallet in her pocket. Belle disagrees immediately of course, says it’s on the house – so many things are on the house with her, sometimes Killian wonders how she even pays the bills at the end of the month.

“Okay, thanks. I should get going, but I think Ruby is doing a thing this evening, so…”

“I’ll be there,” Belle grins.

And off Emma goes, with one last smile above her shoulder and a little wave, before she puts the sunglasses back on her nose as she goes venturing the little streets of Storybrooke. Killian stares at the door even after she’s long gone, and only shakes himself out of his thoughts when Bella bumps his hip with hers. She has the smile of the cat who ate the canary, not that Killian can blame her on that.

The girls tried to set him up with basically every woman in Storybrooke, unsuccessfully. They most likely thought him a lost cause, at this point – but, well, massive crush on out-of-his-league Hollywood star isn’t any better, come to think about it. It’s even worse.

“I see how it is,” Belle teases.

Killian groans as he looks up and prays to whoever is listening to get him out of this mess. But no one is listening, or he would have been swallowed down five minutes earlier. Instead he’s still there, ears a little warm and friend a lot smug. “Don’t tell Ruby,” he hears himself saying, an entire new level of pathetic.

“Oh, I’m going to tell _Merida_.”

Bloody hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good things come to those who wait... or something

It always feels weird, going back to her childhood room – mostly because of the Harry Potter bed set and the Brad Pitt posters on the walls. This Emma, closed-off and lonely, is so far from what Emma has become that she sometimes has a hard time remembering how she was back then – she’ll never forget completely, some scars preventing her from really putting her past behind her, but the memories don’t make her as angry as they used to.

She drops her bag on the bed before she turns to her old desk. The lamp is worse for wear and the computer from another century (literally) but more importantly there is a large cork board on the wall, dozens of pictures and postcards pinned to it. Emma smiles at a picture of Ruby and her hugging each other and holding the camera to take a sloppy selfie, an invitation to Lance’s birthday party, an old ticket to Treasure Planet.

“Mom.” She turns her head to Henry leaning against the doorframe, blinking up at her. There are crumbs on his shirt and chocolate on his upper lip, so he obviously found Belle’s cakes in the fridge. “Ingrid wants us to go to the movies tonight.”

Emma grins, and nods. “Sure thing. I’ll be meeting with people at Granny’s, you can join us later.”

“Yeah!”

And with that off he goes, running back to his own room and slamming the door behind him. Emma winces through her grin, and rolls her eyes – Henry doesn’t get to see his grandmother nearly enough these days, only once every couple of months when she comes to LA for a short visit. Ingrid pampers him way too much every time, and Emma has no doubt he’ll be on a sugar rush tonight from all the popcorn and soda he’ll have at the movies. Typical, not that Emma can complain much – she’ll never complain about having an adoptive mother who loves them both like they’re her own blood. She’ll never complain about people caring.

So she lets Henry be fussed over, and goes to take a shower instead. The pipes groan when she turns on the hot water, but she still hears the front door closing and Ingrid’s car leaving the driveway before silence settles on the house. It’s weird, how quiet Storybrooke is, but a relief too after the buzz that is Hollywood. So Emma takes the time under the shower, washing her hair and scrubbing her skin until it’s pink.

By the time her hair is dry and she has put on comfortable clothes, the sun is low in the sky so she grabs her wallet and heads out. Granny’s is only a five-minute walk from the house, and then the little bell is chiming above her head. There are a few seconds of stillness as customers turn their head to the door, and then a booming voice comes from the back of the room.

“And here is the child prodigy, coming home at last!”

Emma barely has time to scoff at Lancelot’s joke whenRuby is already engulfing her in a hug and stealing the air away from her lungs. She grew out of boots with sky-high heels, and it makes her smaller, throwing Emma off balance a little as she hugs her friend back. Not that she has time to dwell on it when she receives many other hugs after this one – Lance, of course, and Gwen, Mulan, Merida. Granny even comes from behind the counter to greet her, cups her face and presses a kiss on each of her cheeks.

The fussing stops quickly enough, thankfully, and Emma soon finds herself sitting at the booth in the back of the room, the way the gang always did in high school. It’s both familiar and foreign at once, especially since Granny makes her a cup of hot cocoa with cinnamon before she even asks – it’s like she never left, really, and she feels a pang of guilt at not coming back to Storybrooke as much as she’d like. The “I’m busy” excuse only goes so far after all, especially when she gets to lean her head against Ruby’s shoulder, the brunette pressing her cheek to the top of her head.

Coming back to Storybrooke is always something – it’s hardly a secret that she is  _ the _ Emma Swan, but everyone is good enough at pretending nothing out of the ordinary is going on. In Hollywood, she’s the talented actress you stop on the street for a picture or a signature. Here, she’s just a face in the crowd, just a woman spending time at Granny’s with her friends, speaking too fast and talking too loud. It makes for a refreshing few days away from the madness that are her job and life, truth be told.

Emma lets her friends do the conversation, happy to just listen and smile at this or that joke. She takes Ruby's hand in hers, turns it just slightly for the ring on her fourth finger to catch the neon light of the diner. The diamond sparkles beautifully, expensive, and Emma glances at Dorothy, who sits opposite Ruby in the booth. Emma doesn't know much about the woman, beside the fact that she comes from Kansas and makes Ruby happy. Emma had already been long gone when Dorothy came to Storybrooke to take care of her sick aunt, and now she fits better in their group of friends than Emma probably ever will. The thought makes her sigh.

“She makes me happy,” Ruby whispers to her, misinterpreting her sigh.

Emma can only smile at that. “Was about time someone made an honest woman out of you.”

“Oh shut up,” Ruby grins, and chuckles. “I hear a cute baker could make an honest woman out of  _ you _ .”

Emma thanks her years as an actress, for they help her keep her emotions in check and the blush away from her cheeks. She isn't surprised in the least that Ruby --- and all of their friends, most likely -- already knows of her encounter with the new baker in town. Belle is a great many things, but subtle about new gossip she is not. And it doesn't help that her girlfriend is even more nosy than she is. Bells probably told Merida, who told everyone else. Typical.

“Oh I missed Storybrooke,” Emma deadpans.

If Ruby isn't fooled by her obvious change of conversation, she doesn't point it out. Instead, her grin widens a little, before she leans her head against Emma's shoulder. That she can do. Cuddling with her best friend at Granny's, like the exhausted high schoolers they used to be.

She's listening to Gwen as the brunette explains something that happened at work today, when the little bell at the front door chimes with new customers. Merida sits straighter in her chair, grin on her lips, and Emma barely has time to brace herself before Belle and her new employee show up next to their booth.

It's a bit of a mess at first, pushing a table closer and gathering enough chairs for everyone and everything; soon Emma finds herself squeezed between Ruby and Lancelot, with the cute baker next to Dorothy, just in front of her. She tries not to meet his eyes, fails miserably, and offers him a tight-lipped smile. Pathetic.

That's when Granny shows up to take new orders. Belle asks for her usual iced tea with a piece of apple pie on the side, before Granny turns to the other baker.

“What about you, Jones?” she asks with a gruff to her voice that speaks of affection.

His ears are red from all the stares pointed his way, but he still manages to smirk at Granny. It’s the kind of smile that would have gotten him a slap on the back of his head when he was a teenager. As it is, Granny only rolls her eyes, apparently used to the banter she shares with the baker. Once again, familiarity Emma isn’t privy to. They all know him, and welcome him into their group like the old friend he is, and Emma can’t even tell his name.

“Just a coffee,” he replies.

“Make that two,” Emma adds with a smile to Granny.

His eyes shift from the older woman to her, and for a moment Emma finds herself holding his stare – only a few seconds, but it’s more than enough for his cheeks to flush too and for Ruby to swallow down a chuckle. Emma is used to it, but those reactions usually come from teenagers. Men tend to get way too cocky around her, as if they need to be assholes to pick the actress’ interest – it never works, but it doesn’t stop them from trying every time. So this guy’s reaction, much softer, throws Emma off balance.

Or perhaps it is the fact that she finds it endearing.

Merida nudges him in the ribs then, starting a conversation with him and Dorothy both, so he finally looks away from Emma. The sigh out of her mouth might be relief or disappointment. She isn’t sure which.

“Rubs has been meaning to set you up for months now,” Lancelot whispers to her.

Emma stares at Ruby, who glares at Lance. “Don’t be so loud about it!”

“That’s the part where you deny it,” Emma reminds her. Ruby blinks at her. “Oh my god, don’t set me up with strangers.”

“Killian is not a stranger!” Ruby argues.

Ah, so Killian is his name. Good to know. For totally unrelated reasons, of course, not because Emma might agree with Ruby on the subject. Even if she did, she never would say it out loud anyway, because Ruby would just rub it in about her matchmaking skills. It’s thanks to her that Belle finally agreed to go on a date with Merida, and that Gwen broke up with her fiancé so she could get together with Lance. Emma doesn’t want Ruby to actually believe she’s good at that Cupid thing.

“I leave in a week anyway.”

Ruby shrugs. “Hook-up it is, then.”

Lance snorts inelegantly, and Emma knows she lost.

…

Emma has always loved Storybrooke’s harbour. She’s always been fond of the ocean, for as long as she remembers, something soothing about the waves and the salty air and the cries of seagulls. It’s not the same in Los Angeles – Santa Monica is alright, but too crowded, with too many paps waiting for a picture of her in a bikini. Here, there are clouds, and angry waves, and fishermen calling at each other from one ship to another. Here, she can stand on the edge of the harbour and know nobody will come to disturb her.

“Hangover?”

Well, almost nobody.

She finds herself facing Killian, the last person she expected to see – well, she didn’t expect to see anyone, anyway. He doesn’t look any better than her, purple bags under his eyes from sharing drinks at the White Rabbit until late into the night. Or early into the morning, depending on the point of view. Emma vaguely remembers playing darts against him at some point, but her memories are still blurry. Which means vodka was involved. Never good.

“That’s Ruby and Merida for you.”

He laughs softly, the sound deep and rich in the back of his throat, as he comes to lean next to her against the railing. Even in his hangover state, he was cleverer than her, wearing a big sweater. The cold wind sneaks beneath her leather jacket and bites her skin, and she curses herself for forgetting what the weather actually is like in Maine. But she is here now, and she will not go back home just for a cardigan.

Silence stretches between them, comfortable, until he laughs once more. He has the kind of laugh that warms you from the inside out, and Emma finds herself smiling when she looks back at him.

“Can’t believe I got drunk with  _ the Emma Swan _ .”

“I get that a lot,” she replies with a nod.

“Do you?”

She holds his eyes for a few more seconds, before her lips twitch. “No.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at her, even rolls his eyes a little, before he focuses back on the ocean in front of them. Emma can’t remember the last time she got drunk, let alone had fun while doing so – there was that dreadful awards show a few months back, Graham and her drinking way too much wine out of boredom, but that was it. The real partying, the one she truly enjoys, has always been in Storybrooke.

“At least we grew out of playing spin-the-bottle,” she comments.

His ears are red, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from something else, and he clears his throat loudly before he looks back at her. “Thank god for that.”

“Yeah.”

He glances at her lips, and it tells Emma everything she needs to know. It tells her she isn’t alone in thinking it’s a shame they have retired this game, that she wouldn’t mind playing even if she isn’t a teenager anymore, that Seven Minutes in Heaven has never looked more tempting before. But then she thinks about leaving at the end of the week, and her life in Hollywood, and Henry, and she turns away awkwardly.

Ruby is wrong – even a hook-up could be dangerous with that guy. Because he’s handsome, and charming, and so unlike the celebrities she sometimes decides to date. Because she looks at him and sees something different; something she can’t afford right now.

He must sense the change within her, for he stands a little taller, scratching his ear. “I will leave you to your headache then.”

She wants to stop him from leaving.

She doesn’t.


End file.
